


Diversions

by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Backstory, Banter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Experienced Sherlock, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Post-His Last Vow, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock's scar, for one night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:53:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_careful_what_you_wish_for/pseuds/221b_careful_what_you_wish_for
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janine revisits Sherlock Holmes nearly a year after parting ways in the hospital. </p>
<p>“I can’t help it. I enjoy messing with you,” she teased. “Speaking of messing with people, I’ve got something else here to return to you.” </p>
<p>She reached into her bag again and withdrew a small lacquered box. She looked at it a moment, then tossed it to Sherlock, who easily caught it in one hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diversions

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the Baker Street flat, casting shadows into the far corners of the sitting room. The only sound was the soft click of rapid keystrokes, a cup of tea gone cold on the desk as Sherlock’s long fingers typed out a flurry of instructions.

His hands stilled momentarily and he tilted his head slightly, alert to a subtle change. He resumed typing and, without taking his eyes from the screen, said, “Hello, Janine.”

"Well, so much for a surprise. Hello, Mr. Holmes,” Janine leaned against the doorway of the flat, a playful smile on her face. “It’s been awhile. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

Sherlock finished typing several more lines, then finally turned to look at his guest. “Are you here to deliver more revenge?”

“It’s much more mundane than that, I’m afraid. May I come in?”

Sherlock closed the laptop and stood, sweeping his hand toward the red arm chair. “Please, have a seat.”

As Janine crossed the room, he settled into his own chair and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. He took a moment to assess his visitor sitting opposite of him. It had been almost a year since he’d seen her. She looked smart, dressed in a well-cut black skirt and burgundy silk blouse. “Enjoying your cottage?”

“I am. It’s lovely. I get  there when I can,” she glanced idly above the fireplace mantle at the display of insects pinned beneath glass. “I even gave the beehives a reprieve. I’ve read how honey bees are dying off, so I figure they can use all the help they can get.”

“That’s decent of you,” Sherlock smiled slightly. “So. You’ve brought back the key to the flat.”

“Have I?”

“Obviously. You let yourself in. I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

“Which rarely works, as I remember. But you’re right, of course,” she leaned forward to reach into her handbag and pulled out a key, placing it on the table. “Thought you might want to give it to someone else some day.”

He glanced at the key. “Thank you."

Just then there was a light tap and “Oo-ooo” at the door. “Sorry to interrupt, Sherlock. I heard voices and brought up some tea for you and your client.”

“Not a client, Mrs. Hudson. Just an old friend.”

Mrs. Hudson set the tea tray down on the side table and looked closer. “Oh, Janine! Hello, dear. Wasn’t expecting to see you,” she shot Sherlock a look, whispering loudly, “Doesn’t she hate you?”

“Hi, Mrs. Hudson,” Janine interjected. “I just stopped by for a visit.”

“That’s nice. He could do with more visitors, what with him always working. Sherlock, dear, just wanted to remind you that I’m going to stay with my sister this weekend, so you’ll have to fend for yourself, I’m afraid. I’m just finishing up a few things, then I’m off. Nice to see you again, Janine."

Mrs. Hudson turned and bustled back down the stairs.

“She’s a sweetheart,” Janine said, pouring the tea.

“Positively saccharine.”

Janine stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “Work is busy, then? Lots of cases?”

“Yes. Some more interesting than others.”

“No crack house crime scenes, I hope?”

“Nope.”

“That’s good,” she took another sip, then set her cup into the saucer. She let her gaze wander around the room. “Still not one for dusting, I see.”

Sherlock smiled into his cup, “And you’re still one for the barbs.”

“I can’t help it. I enjoy messing with you,” she teased. “Speaking of messing with people, I’ve got something else here to return to you.” She reached into her bag again and withdrew a small lacquered box. She looked at it a moment, then tossed it to Sherlock, who easily caught it in one hand.

“The so-called engagement ring,” she explained. “I sort of… nicked it when you were in hospital and I was feeling a bit spiteful.”

He flipped open the box and tilted the ring so that it sparkled in the remaining light.

“It’s a pretty thing,” she continued. “Might come in handy next time you need to take advantage of someone for a case.”

Sherlock tamped down a small pang of what he recognized as guilt. “Sorry.” He snapped the lid of the ring box shut and tossed it onto his desk where it landed in a jumble of papers.

“It’s fine. I’m the resilient type,” she said lightly. “But there’s one last reason I’m here. I wanted to say thank you.”

Sherlock glanced up, surprised. “What for?”

“For taking care of Magnussen,” she said. “I don’t know all the details, but when I heard the bastard was dead I figured you had a hand in it.”

“He had to be stopped,” Sherlock allowed guardedly.

“I agree.” Janine looked at him, her brown eyes uncharacteristically serious. She was silent for a long moment, then placed her cup back on the tray. “Right. I’ve returned your things and said what I came to say,”  she gave him a smile, her brightness returning.  “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Work. Sherlock quickly revisited the current case and calculated he could not move forward until he heard back from several contacts. That meant a dull evening. Not even Mrs. Hudson would be around to break up the tedium with her inane chatter. He looked at Janine. For some reason he had a certain fondness for the way she needled him.

“Actually, work has reached a standstill,” he said.  “I could do with a distraction. Do you have dinner plans?”

“No, not really.” Janine raised an eyebrow. “Cluedo and curry?”

“Just what I was thinking.”

 

* * *

 

“Can you never let anyone else win this bloody game?” Exasperated, Janine threw her cards onto the board.

“Why would I do that?”

“Never mind. Just pour me another,” she held out her glass and Sherlock tipped in a splash of Scotch, refilling his own glass as well.

Janine curled back into the chair with her legs tucked beneath her. “So how else are you spending your time these days? Do you see much of John and Mary?”

Sherlock looked at the fire in the hearth through the cut crystal of his glass. “No, not much.”

“I haven’t been very good about keeping in touch, I’m afraid. Things change. They’ve had the baby?”

“Mmm, yes. A girl. They sent a photo. It’s over there, somewhere.”

She swirled her drink. “Domestic bliss.”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

Janine tilted her head at Sherlock, trying to read his expression. “So what’s your idea of bliss, then?”

He smiled wryly. “Well, it’s not particularly legal, so that leaves brainwork. For you, however,” his right index finger extended toward her, “I’d say bliss is… security.”

Janine shifted in her chair. “If you mean money, then yes. I like to know I have enough to take care of myself.”

“Not just money. Safety.”

Sherlock saw her jaw tense. “Yes, that too,” she finally said.

“What did Magnussen have on you?” Sherlock asked quietly, almost to himself.

Janine stiffened and met his gaze square on. “Let’s not get into that, Sherl. It’s dead and gone along with that monster.”

“If there’s something--”

“Leave it,” she said sharply, then lowered her voice. “Look, it was to do with my family. And my family… isn’t very pleasant. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Perhaps I could help.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Leave it.” She stood and walked to the mantle. Draining her glass, she placed it next to the skull and traced one of the empty eye sockets with her finger. “But I appreciate your offer.”

Sherlock rose and went to her side. Uncertain, he chose to deflect the matter. “Well, it’s the least I can do for my former fiancee.”

Janine let out short laugh, her posture softening. “Oh, Sherlock. I was such an idiot to fall for that. Deep down I think I knew better, but those eyes of yours just did me in,” she reached up and rested her palm against his cheek. She sighed, her hand dropping to his chest where she smoothed the lapel of his suit jacket.

“I’ve missed this, just a bit, being around you,” she admitted softly. “I wish I didn’t.”

“You’re good company. I don’t often say that.”

“I imagine you don’t,” she smiled slightly, then looked up at him, serious again. “Why do you do it? Why exclude everything and everyone to center your life around your work?”

He took several moments to reply. “That’s a complicated question.”

“You’re a complicated man.”

He rubbed his jaw. “Work is all that matters.”

“Yes, but… don’t you ever get lonely?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, a nerve unexpectedly struck. Apart from what was required for the cases, he had barely interacted with anyone for weeks. He still exchanged caustic texts with Mycroft and had seen John on a few occasions, but circumstances continued to widen the distance between them. He felt more isolated now than he had during the two years of his absence.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” she gently touched his arm, causing him to realize how unaccustomed he had grown to even such a simple gesture of concern.

A crack began to form in the disciplined wall he had built within himself, splintering his carefully cultivated reserve. He suddenly became keenly aware of Janine’s closeness, her warmth and amber scent twining around him. Involuntarily, he recalled the small of her back and the curve of her thigh when he had strategically shared his bed with her. As much as he wanted to refute it, he was tired of being alone. He could no longer ignore the erosion that loneliness was carving through him.

Pushing reason aside, he slowly bent down and placed a soft kiss on her lips that tasted of Scotch. He drew back just far enough so that their foreheads remained touching.

Janine hesitated, sensing a shift in him she had not anticipated. “It’s late…” she faltered, giving them both a chance to step away. She wavered, teetering on the brink of pulling back and wanting to lean in. She waited three more heartbeats then leaned in.

Their mouths met again, tentative at first, then deepening, her hands sliding up his chest. One of his hands skimmed down her back, the other curved around her hip and pulled her closer as if to verify her presence. They’d gone through these motions before, Janine thought, but now there was an element of intensity that had not been part of the teasing, seductive games they had played during their prior dalliance.

He brushed his lips along her neck and her fingers wound into his hair. His hands slid under the thin silk of her blouse, traveling along her bare skin. She soon felt the fabric glide over her shoulders and arms as it was peeled away.

She pushed the jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall unheeded to the floor. She urgently worked at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel every sinew of his torso. A stack of books toppled over as he pressed her against the wall, his mouth grazing her shoulder. She had to turn her head away to catch her breath. “If this is another trick, I swear…” she said shakily.

“No tricks,” he murmured into her ear. “Promise.”

She replied by working his black shirt over his shoulders and down his arms until it joined the other garments accumulating on the rug. She ran her palms over the planes of  his back and chest, pausing when her fingers discovered the scar from the bullet wound.

He watched her reaction; she held his gaze and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall from her hips. She knelt, slowly trailing her mouth to the scar and tracing the edges of the circular mark with her tongue. She felt his sharp intake of breath, his hand gripping her hair. She grasped his wrists and pulled him down to her level. He wrapped one arm around her waist and bent her backward, taking her to the floor.

 

* * *

 

Janine woke gradually in the dark, confused at first to be in a strange bed, then realized she was at Baker Street. She shifted slightly among the tangled sheets and could see Sherlock’s lean form in the shadows next to her. She curved herself against his back and draped her arm over his waist.

“How long have you been awake?” Sherlock’s voice sounded even deeper in the darkness.

“Not long.” Rain pattered against the windows as she felt the scar with her fingertips, wondering how such violence could ever heal over completely. “Does it still hurt?”

“Yes. Sometimes. I don’t dwell on it.”

They remained silent, the room gradually growing lighter. He turned and she settled herself against his shoulder.

She said quietly, “I must admit, you surprised me last night. I mean, we had a bit of fun before, but ..."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well,” she said. “You haven’t exactly led a sheltered existence, have you?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, despite what people seem to think, I haven’t.”

She propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. “Go on.”

“What?”

“Tell me. I’m curious.”

“Why?”

“Because usually you seem so above it all.”

He let out a sigh. “God, I need a cigarette if we’re going to chat about this,” he muttered, locating a crumpled pack and lighter from somewhere on the floor. The flame briefly illuminated the angles of his face and he gazed at the ceiling, blowing out a long stream of smoke.

“There’s not much to explain. I’ve always been driven by an insatiable curiosity and a proclivity for risk, which, as you might imagine, is a volatile combination in a mind that’s easily bored,” he paused while Janine lifted the cigarette from his fingers and took a drag. “More than a few of my younger days were spent experimenting with the various mechanics of excess.”

She passed the cigarette back as he continued.

“My big brother kept me in check as best he could. Rehab, relapse, rehab… Tedious.” He flicked away the ash. “Eventually, I came to a point when I chose not to be compromised by... diversions, be they chemical or physical,” his eyes glided down her body, “and devoted myself to the mind. To the work."

Janine reached for the cigarette again. “But even you have lapses."

“So it seems,” he replied. The Woman, smiling knowingly, flashed into his mind. Not now. He banished her.

"There is such a thing as moderation, you know," Janine said.

“I’m really not good at moderation.”

“Sherl, you make things so hard for yourself,” she said with an edge of frustration. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” she leaned closer and whispered: “You may not believe it, but you deserve to be happy.”

He shot her a surprised glance.

“And I know we...this... isn’t going anywhere, but I’m glad it happened,” she smoothed a stray curl away from his eyes. “Even a brilliant detective incapable of moderation needs a little diversion once in a while.”

He took in her words, then leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek.

Janine closed her eyes, a shimmer of wistfulness passing through her. But then she shook it away by stretching luxuriously. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll let you come visit my beehives if you’re nice.”

He half laughed, half choked on a lungful of smoke.

“Sounds lewd, doesn’t it?" she said innocently. "Now, I think some coffee is in order. I’ll make it, since you apparently can’t boil water.”

She wrapped a sheet around her shoulders and slid from the bed, tousling his hair before she went into the kitchen.

Sherlock watched the weak light coming through the windows, then stubbed out the cigarette. The text alert trilled on his phone.

Right, he thought, back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> For more Janine and Sherlock one year earlier, you may wish to continue on to the story "Four-Week Fall."  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1190076/chapters/2428122


End file.
